


what’s in a name?

by RegretConflictSecrets



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: I was thinking about names, M/M, Not intended to be read as shippy, and it turned into this, and languages, or anything really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24042118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RegretConflictSecrets/pseuds/RegretConflictSecrets
Summary: Jihoon ponders the meaning within a name.(Give this a chance, please... it’s weird but I think it’s good)
Relationships: Hong Jisoo | Joshua/Lee Jihoon | Woozi, Kim Mingyu/Lee Jihoon | Woozi, Lee Jihoon | Woozi/Wen Jun Hui | Jun
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	what’s in a name?

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I was thinking about names and what mine in different languages mean to me as a near-trilingual (Spanish student haha) child of immigrants, and then i watched a lyric video for My I and realized just how accurate the translation is yet how far it is from what the original lyrics really mean, and then about what stage names might mean to people who use them, and all that somehow morphed and coalesced into this... it’s pretty interesting, I think 
> 
> Also I do not have Instagram or twitter or anything really simply because I do not feel the need or desire to have and account on any of them, so correct me if I get something wrong, but insta isn’t mentioned much anyways haha

His Instagram handle is pretty accurate, he thinks. @woozi_universefactory. That’s what he is, what he does, condensed into three simple words. He makes music, writes songs, every one a universe and infinite worlds contained within. He weaves stories, and that’s what universes are, right? A universe is stories within stories within stories, ever more, ever growing. Sometimes, he debates the merits of just changing the username to “god”- it’s just as accurate and much more efficient.

That’s what he thinks when Soonyoung asks him about it.

But he says: I thought it sounded pretty, and slaps Soonyoung away when he coos and calls him soft and just replies, _I write songs. I make things that sound pretty_ , and turns back around to keep working.

He’s not totally sure why he doesn’t explain that whole thought process to Soonyoung. Maybe because he’s not done thinking it through, still isn’t entirely sure why he set that username as what it is, why there’s such a depth of feeling behind it. It’s kind of ridiculous, really; it’s only a username, who puts that much thought into it?

But, he supposes, a name is a powerful thing, even when it’s not quite real.

Years ago, when they were still trainees, Junhwi had said something to him, about names. Jihoon had gotten a little frustrated when Junhwi hadn’t responded after Jihoon had called for him to come to practice several times already; he’d yelled, _respond when someone calls your name, won’t you?_ Junhwi had only smiled a little and replied, _it’s a name, it’s what everyone here calls me, but I’m not used to it. It’s not really mine. I don’t really know who Moon Junhwi is_. Jihoon snapped back, _it is still your name, just in a different language, so get used to it, won’t you?_ Jun only shook his head a little, pressed for time; they had to get to practice.

But after they finish, he says this: _there’s always something lost in translation, Jihoon-ah, always something different about the way that words and sounds fit together in another language. Even in the same language, two words with the same dictionary definition don’t really mean the same thing, feel the same way, do they?_

When they’d chosen stage names, responding to _Woozi, Woozi-yah, Woozi-hyung_ had come naturally to him. He still didn’t see the dissonance that Jun had talked about, the odd shift between his real name, his stage name, and him. But when he performs as Woozi for the first time, hears a fan call him _Woozi-oppa_ at their first fansign, he feels it. Feels it as keenly as the terrible, practiced ease with which he keeps his face smiling, serious, or neutral, nothing else. Suddenly, _Woozi_ rings false and jarring against the steady beat of _Lee Jihoon._

He adjusts to it quickly enough, trying his best to respond as Jihoon whenever one of his members calls for him, lets Jihoon and Woozi blur together onstage, on camera, as much as he can. He thinks he can understand by just the tiniest bit what Junhui was feeling, might still feel.

Though he hadn’t really participated in writing Japanese or Mandarin lyrics, Jihoon still has to record them with the right emotion and so he has to know what he’s singing. Minghao and Soonyoung’s careful, patient explanations gave him a better idea of what Junhui had meant that day, about something always being lost in translation. He hadn’t really understood it then, still being purely monolingual; but now, after learning bits of Japanese and Mandarin and working on tracks in those languages, he understands a little better. Unless he becomes fluent in another language though, he doesn’t think he’ll ever truly get it.

After practice one day, Jihoon asks Junhwi, both slumped against the mirrors, “What did you say again, about being-” he stumbles over the pronunciation- “Wen Junhui and Moon Junhwi and how it’s you, but not really you?”

Jun smiles, a little nostalgic. He replies, “then, Wen Junhui and Moon Junhwi were two different people, yet merged halfway together. Now, they are one and the same, and it is Jun who is what Moon Junhwi was back then.”

Jihoon still doesn’t get it but he really wants to, and doesn’t know why. It must show on his face, because Junhwi pushes his hair back and continues:

“Then, Wen Junhui was a shy, anxious Chinese boy who left home to become a trainee in Korea, a country where he can barely speak the language and knows no one. He has to learn how to sing and dance, and the latter he can do; it’s the first one he’s a little scared about. He is Wen Junhui only, Wen Junhui through and through until he arrives at Pledis. In that old training room where mirrors and cameras and sharp-tongued teachers point out your every flaw, Moon Junhwi is a foreign trainee from China who rarely speaks, and when he does it’s short and frozen and sealed off from everyone. He looks icy and unreachable, and when he sings and dances it’s precision and emotion and confident power. He takes criticism well, quickly fixing his errors, yet more often than not remains silent when you praise him and turns his back. The other Chinese trainees are the only ones he really interacts with.”

It’s exactly how Jihoon had seen Junhwi for the first half of his training period, and he blinks, a little stunned at how self-aware Junhwi is, has been, even when they were so young.

“Now, the trainees have quit or become idols, and the members of Seventeen know Wen Junhui to the fullest extent that a person can know another. Now they know that his sometimes icy exterior is only because he’s shy and terrified of strangers, they build up his confidence with little reassurances and understand when he ignores a well-meaning compliment, and sees through whatever face he puts on to the demons that lie beneath. They see everything that Moon Junhwi is and has been and know and love all of it no matter what they call him. Somewhere along the years, Wen Junhui and Moon Junhwi have become one and the same- to his members, at least- because Wen Junhui is Moon Junhwi, and so much more; it’s just that now, he’s not afraid to show it.”

Jihoon just stares. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Junhwi say something so eloquently before- and that’s because what he’s just said is truer than anything. Junhwi himself gazes ahead at the rest of the group fooling around the room, and then seems to snap out of a deep reverie. “Come on, Jihoonie! Let’s get food!”

Shaking himself, Jihoon reluctantly follows as Junhwi tugs him across the room at a ridiculous pace. “W-wait- what about your stage name-?” Junhwi just looks back and laughs. “I thought you didn’t ask questions you already knew the answers to, Woozi-yah. Now come on! I have snacks!”

Jihoon does know, and thinks that Junhwi is more perceptive than any of them give him credit for.

He questions Mingyu next: “Is Mingyu, onstage, someone different than Mingyu here with us?”

Mingyu hums, thoughtful. “You know how I am: if you ask, I’ll tell, and if you don’t ask I’ll probably tell you anyway.” Jihoon snorts; it really is true. They all know more about Mingyu than someone would ever care to know about anyone.

“So, for the most part, I’m the same in front of fans and cameras as I am in front of you guys. Really the only difference is how much I can show. So I guess my answer is, Mingyu is Mingyu anywhere; he just shows more or less depending on whether he’s onstage or off.”

He whips his head around to stare at Jihoon, grinning: “Why so sudden, Jihoon-ah? You never ask stuff like this. You feeling okay?”

Jihoon just smacks him and mutters shut up, but Mingyu’s smile is understanding and warm even as he mocks him, don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.

Jihoon has a harder time articulating his question toward Jisoo, but he gets it. Tipping his head back, he says, “Joshua isn’t really a stage name, and doesn’t feel like another person either. Both Jisoo and Joshua are my given names, after all, and everyone called me Jisoo here back before we debuted and Joshua’s what everyone calls me in America.” He smiles wistfully, a little homesick, longing for home even when he’s right there. Jihoon knows the feeling; they all do.

“It was definitely an adjustment, hearing everyone call me Jisoo or Shua instead of Joshua or Josh, and the way the pronunciation differs. I’m not really shy and my emotions show on my face as exactly what they are, and I like to say what I think, so I’ve always acted the same whatever people call me. It was kind of weird, though, because Joshua is Jisoo is me, but the name Jisoo didn’t really feel like mine- kind of like shoes you have that aren’t really your style and you never wear? They’re definitely yours and they fit fine, but they’re uncomfortable since you wear them so rarely.”

“I’m used to it now though, I’ve worn the shoes a lot and now they’re broken in and comfortable. And even though I use Joshua onstage, the boy from LA isn’t eclipsed by that. People can share names, after all, even if they are really just the same person.”

There’s a beat, and then Joshua flushes and buries his face in his hands. “That was embarrassing. I still can’t word things properly- oh my god…”

Jihoon just wraps his arms around his hyung and says, “No, it was-that was good. You spoke very well.” Joshua hums and nestles into the embrace, and they sit like that for a while, cuddled up against the living room wall, watching the video-game playing and drama-watching rapidly descend into absolute madness.

So, Jihoon supposes, names are certainly very powerful no matter how real they are, but they are always real. A name becomes real when it is given to something, to someone, and from then on that is what it is, what they are. It holds everything that makes that person or thing inside it, no matter its intended meaning. So then, what, or who, is @woozi_universefactory, then?

But a name also only holds as much importance and depth as you give it, as does a social media page. Therefore, @woozi_universefactory is simply Woozi’s personal Instagram, nothing more, nothing less, and it doesn’t have to be. It is what it is because it’s what Woozi wanted for it, and as for why he chose that name?

He liked it.


End file.
